Roll the Dice
by Xx Calypso xX
Summary: Light is allowed a second chance at life, but he can't remember everything. When the death note falls again and L appears, Light's memories start returning in the strangest way. Chaos reigns as Light struggles to choose; L or Kira?
1. Prologue

Author's Note: Hi everyone, this is my first fanfic, so forgive me if it's not the greatest! This first chapter is very metaphorical and somewhat psychological, so yes it will require some thought. Any type of review is appreciated, and any pointers would be great!!

Warnings: Future LxRaito

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Death Note, nor do I claim any sort of profit or material gain from writing this story.

**Prologue**

The cards had been dealt, the first hand played. The bluffs, the challenges, then energy, the luck. That's all it really was—were you lucky enough to call the others' bluff, lucky enough to get good cards? That's what it boiled down to, that's all that you were worth – your luck. There were some with all the luck, there were many more with none. Could you even play the game without looking at your cards, without ever seeing them? Were there cards at all, or are you just swept along in a wave? Is there nothing you could do to change what you have, what you retain? Why not trade your cards, tempt fate and hope to get something better, hope to win? Why is it so useless to go against your fate, defy your destiny and do what you want – what you _truly_ want? We are simply insignificant pawns, used in the great game of life. Throw in the towel, fold, lay down your cards and walk away. There, it's done. But it can't be that simple – it's never that simple. On your way out you're offered another game, another chance – another gamble. And you always accept, never taking the plunge and simply leaving, instead you comply once again to fate.

Coward?

Greedy?

Scared?

Brave?

Selfless?

Courageous?

What are we, what traits that we desire can we embody? Us, the race doomed to play, doomed to die and doomed to lose. The dealer has the advantage. A never ending cycle, one that doesn't have an alternate path, an escape, a reprieve. So why not just play? Why don't you try your hardest, bluff, threaten, coerce and charm until you win, until you're at the top? Maybe, just this once luck will be on your side, luck will find you, help you and love you. So go on, free yourself of oppression, live free, live fast – just live.

What? You can't do it? Just like I thought.

Coward.

Greedy.

Scared.

You've been stripped of everything; emotion, visage, life and death. Hands raw, wrists bleeding, you've given up. What other choice did you have, what second option was there? There was nowhere else to run, to hide. In the open, naked, shivering, stripped of everything. Bare for everyone to see.

Monstrous.

Disgusting.

Hideous.

And yet, intriguing, graceful and strangely beautiful. An oxymoron – that's what you are. You are everything and yet you are nothing. Lost in that tide, swept away without meaning. No more walls, no barriers, no protection – only yourself, only you. Scary, yet strangely, bizarrely exhilarating, freeing – an oxymoron.

What's your next move, what cards will you play? You decide. Last move, last hand until it's gone. What are you going to do? Have you decided? Then go, do it, try and win. Defy fate. Defy everything. Fool yourself, make yourself believe – you are whole, you aren't useless. Fool everyone, make them believe, deny fate, deny feelings, deny everyone and everything. Then what? What's left?

A shell, that's what you are, an empty shell who used to fight, used to play. Now you're nothing, you're just there. Just pretending to exist. Standing alone. Not seen, not heard, not felt. Make-believe, a fool, but you can still pretend.

Game over. You've lost, but not died. You've won but not survived. What one was it? No matter, you're still here, still there, still empty. Not seen, not heard, not felt. A pretence, a shadow. And then…He came.

He who damned you, he who made you, he who completes you. But what use is he now, you've failed, the game has ended, there are no more cards to play. He who defies all, he who defied fate, played with fate and won. And you, you who complied with fate, pretended to ignore fate, pretended to win but in the end lost. He the exception. You the failure. He loves you, he loves you not. Which is it?

You decide. Decide what to believe, or just pretend not to hear the question. That's all you can do, isn't it? Pretend, fool and deceive. What good did that do you? It got you to where you are now. The questions unknown, the answers right here. But how can you answer a question that was never asked. How can you possibly know the answer?

You don't. It's that simple, so instead, pretend. Pretend to understand, to know the answer – to know the question. It's all that you can do, after all, are you even here? You're a shell, an empty pretend shell. So is a pretence even there at all? Have you somehow gotten into our minds and made us believe? Or are you real? Can you still exist, still fight? Or has all of that left you?

Take a chance, take that leap of faith and for once don't worry about what's at the bottom. He's here, he's here. Is he going to save you, ignore you or damn you like everyone else. He defied fate once, went against the tide, against the wave and made it through. Perhaps he'll continue to do that, continue to go against the normal. You can only hope. Only try to believe.

Don't stop believing. Don't ever stop. Smile, for it will go one, a true smile will touch someone. Stop pretending. Stop faking and let go of the mask, fall, and take that one step forward. Do everything to roll the dice again, for that last faithful time. Continue on your journey; get on that train that leads to the future.

If two people got on a train at midnight, would they ever meet? Is He getting on a train as well, going on a journey that can lead anywhere? Out to the vast, the great unknown? Who knows? You certainly don't. The dice has rolled; a new number has come up. So try again, try and stop it. This time, don't pretend, don't be a fool. Just…defy and keep defying your so-called fate. Do it. Do it right this time. Do it for Him.


	2. Chapter One

**Author's Note: **Sorry for taking so damn long with this chapter. I've had no time, been swamped with school work and writer's block!! I still don't exactly like how this chapter's turned out, but it's the best that it's going to get…for now ^_^

I'd also like to thank those who reviewed, put Roll the Dice on their alert and favorited the story! It's my first so it means a lot (:

Warnings: Eventual LxLight

**Disclaimer: **If you want one, go to the prologue.

XxX

He was a creature of the night, only to be seen by the moon. His face illuminated by the moon's unearthly glow, making him into an ethereal being. An angel that fell from heaven, a demon that rose from beneath the earth. An unknown, an unexplained. So people held him away from themselves, for he was new, he was change. He was to be held above them, untouchable, unreachable and impossibly majestic. He was worshipped on some level by most, for he was more intelligent, more attractive and purer than the worshippers. His eyes held a soft innocence, over-laid by gentleness and kindness. He was the spirit that embodied everything a human should be, the epitome of human kind.

Did he want to be worshiped? No, that was the last thing he had hoped for. He wanted to be normal, to be average - that would have been a blessing. His qualities were above human level, and were a curse in disguise. He was enviable to those around him, but in reality he was alone. People were too intimidated to talk to him. What would they have said that he didn't already know or understand? What could they have done to attract his attention? If they attracted his attention, how would they keep it? Everyone simply assumed that he had plenty of interesting, above average friends and so he was left alone.

Why did they do that? Why didn't they make the effort, overcome their fears and try to be his friend, not his admirer? Why, because they may have admired him on the outside, but on the inside their emotions were twisted and unpleasant. They lusted after him, envied him, admired him, feared him and found hope in him. No one knew what to do with all of these emotions, these feelings that rushed out of their beings in a mad, twisted frenzy. So they did what the others did - admired him from a far and fantasized about the world that he _had_ to live in.

No one saw it coming, no one saw past the mask of happiness and indulgence and saw the small, scared child inside. Perhaps that is what led up to this whole mess; the terrible loneliness that he had to suffer through. He had no one, no one to talk to; to confide in, to share his ideas with and no one would ever comfort him. His fears went unnoticed, his dreams unfulfilled and his desires ignored. People would assume that he was above irrational fear, his dreams were already fulfilled and anything he could possibly want, he already had.

How utterly wrong they were, how could they possibly say that he was perfect, he was almost divine. He was nothing like that. Sure, on the outside he seemed to have a perfect life, but no one ever saw the inside. No one ever even bothered to get to know him – not his parents, not his sister. He was bitter. He was cold. And above all he was angry – furious at the world for abandoning him. Furious at 'god' for giving him talent and looks. Furious at people for never bothering with him. Furious with himself for being scared, too scared to try talk to others, to be normal. So these emotions festered within, infected, grotesque wounds on his very soul. His perfect, blank mask stayed.

The air was crisp, a nice fall day smelling of fresh rain. He walked to school in peace, without disturbance. He knew the exact amount of steps to the train station – 541 – and knew that his route would never differ. Boredom, that's what he experienced daily, repetition and boredom. That's what best describes his day, nothing ever changes. His intelligence would always be above average, and perhaps that is why he found himself staring out of the window during English class.

The teacher simply couldn't hold his attention as he droned on about the conjugation of verbs in past, present and future tense. What others struggled with, he retained and understood instantly, besides, he'd already read ahead of the class. His thoughts were elsewhere, in an imaginary place that simply was, no sound, no light, no sense of touch, taste or smell. A place that he both feared and found comfort within. A place for forgiveness, change and choices. He had to wonder why he had always thought of this non-existent place, for one rarely thinks or finds comfort in nothingness.

He had been gazing towards the teacher, his eyes glazed over, his posture relaxed and natural. One hand cradled his cheek as he struggled to focus his eyes on the blackboard. His valiant efforts went to waste when, without conscious thought, he turned his head and gazed at a fixed spot on the school's grass.

It was there that it appeared. A black note book appeared out of nothingness, and dropped lightly onto the ground. Immediately his curiosity was piqued. This supernatural occurrence happening right there, in front of him had him entranced. He had always been fascinated with the supernatural, the make-believe. He, of course, kept this hidden away, for if it was revealed, his perfect mask would be shattered into a million pieces.

Suddenly realizing his drifting, he turned his head back towards the front of the class – though his thoughts remained stubbornly on the notebook. The seconds slowly ticked by, as his impatience grew. There was some inexplicable force that drew his attention to the notebook. His curiosity was slowly killing him, for at the moment he could think of nothing but discovering what the notebook was. Why it was there, how it appeared, what is was used for and the way it seemed to have chosen him for an owner. For there was no other apparent explanation, he had been chosen to see the notebook, for he was the only one who had seen it. Then the bell rang.

He walked out of the classroom, out of the building and headed towards the strange notebook. In front of it, he stopped and examined it from afar. There didn't seem to be anything special about it, as it laid there, a black rectangle against a sea of green. But still, for some weird reason, he resisted touching it or going within a metre of it. For some reason, he felt some sense of condemning reaching out towards him. It was as if the notebook meant something bad, something unpredictable.

Yet, the notebook had intrigued him, had created a wave within his structured life. So he forged forward, ignoring the voice in the back of his head telling him not to touch the notebook. He stood in front of it, his feet centimetres away from the notebook. Taking a deep breath, and calming himself down, he reached out for the notebook. His fingers hesitated over it, before closing around the edge.

…

Nothing, absolutely nothing had happened. The weird sense of foreboding had meant nothing, his hesitance was simply weakness. His weakness made him angry, and disappointed in himself. Mocking himself from within, he turned the notebook over and read the words _Death Note_. A morbid name, a meaningful name and a name that he felt he had seen before. But perhaps that was simply his imagination, his ignorance. He shoved the note in his bag, disregarding any 'importance' that the note might have held. Regardless of its validity, standing in a field in public was hardly the place to look through it.

He headed home, following his usual routine and pretending there was never a deviation within it. He arrived at his home, took off his shoes, said hello and headed up to his room. From there, he took out the 'Death Note' and began to examine it. The rules within were sick, cruel and detailed for something that couldn't be real. And yet, the note had this odd sense of truthfulness emanating from it; like it was real, like this note had true power.

He had to test it out; there was no other way to tell, no other way to be sure. He just…knew that if it worked he had something very powerful in his hands, something that could and would change the world. He turned his television on, the news was on. They were broadcasting something about a man who had killed people and now had children held hostage within a building. This man, no this monster, couldn't be allowed to live. No one would miss him, no one would mourn him. In fact, everyone would rejoice that this menace was no longer on earth, and could terrorize no others. In this bout of courage, and his refusal to hesitate and show weakness again, he took out a pen and wrote a single name, _Otoharada Kurou_.

_ **kill**_

All at once thoughts rushed into his head, confusing him, affecting him. They were all words that he had heard, that he had experienced before, but where? Just where had these words come from, all so familiar and close to his heart? Nothing like this had ever happened, he remembered something, but he didn't know what. This something was important, to him and to another. But he didn't know just who this other was. The emotions ran through him, and chilled him to the bone. It felt like he was being judged – weighed - by someone who was him, but not him. It made no sense.

And then Otoharada Kuou was pronounced dead. The hostages had run out of the building, and the police had found Kuou lying on the floor without a pulse. It was then that he knew with perfect clarity, the note was real. It was no prank, no joke. This was real, and this note could change everything. And it was_ his._ No one else's, it belonged to him and always would, unless he gave it up. And he knew exactly what this meant for him - to be god, to be worshiped…to be perfect. So he continued, continued killing criminals for he knew that's what he was meant to do. For five days, countless criminals were put to death, all by heart attack. The world knew he was out there, and he was their god, their protector; **Kira**. That's what he was called, and everyone knew his name.

He didn't quite know why he did it, but he did. It filled some of the hole, he was important to people. He mattered, he got attention and got analysed by everyone. Did he have a motive? One would suppose, but he didn't know if he did. He wanted attention, wanted to protect and wanted to be known. But he didn't really want to kill people – he had to. Nothing else filled the gap, nothing else helped. It was his duty to kill, his preordained destiny.

_Five Days Later_

His ever present guardian watched over him. Looming over his shoulder, his glowing yellow eyes tracing the words being written on the page. Forever a nuisance, the guardian wanted apples, and hell if wouldn't get them. The guardian refused to budge, despite the not so subtle implication that he should. He turned around, and with a single word (finally) acknowledged the guardian's presence, "Ryuk."

_Two Days Previous_

He opened the book again, turning on the television, preparing to solidify his reign once again and purge the world of evil. He froze, there was a voice speaking to him, coming from behind. He swiftly turned around and was faced by the ugliest creature he had ever seen. Black and blue in colour, with wings sprouting out of its back, drooping yellow eyes, razor sharp teeth exposed in a wide smile, tall and covered in rags; the ugliest thing he had ever seen, yet he was not afraid – refused to be afraid in fact. He was powerful and would remain that way for a long time. After all, he remembered. The instant he saw the creature, he knew. He knew all that had been forgotten and knew about the past. Still he refused to acknowledge the creature's presence.

Sure, it had been confusing to remember everything at once, but he was a genius and could therefore process thoughts and feelings efficiently and in a minimal amount of time. Besides that, he had already experienced memory regain once before. So, he knew about the Death Note, about Shinigami, the eyes, the messages, the mind games and Misa. But he cared little for those, the one thing – person that dominated his mind was him. **L**

XxX

So that's the end of the first chapter, hope you enjoyed it! I'd like to point out that the prologue and this chapter are both unbetaed, and chapters in the future are most likely going to be as well. If you find any mistakes please tell me and I'll be happy to fix them! I also decided to change 'Raito' to 'Light' in the summery and for the future. Oh, and I promise, names are going to be mentioned next chapter, and the POV from here on is going to change a lot!

_**kill**_


End file.
